dermatillomania is no fun. but when jason kisses you — you hardly remember the pain anymore.
“Babe? Babe.”
You felt Jason’s hand rest softly over your wrist. Not in the jarring, shameful manner that was common with others. No, his touch was gentle. Soothing.
“Hi. Anyone home?” His smile was teasing but you didn’t miss the concern that lingered at the corners.
You threw your head back, letting it fall on the couch cushion. “Sorry. Maybe I do need to buy that fidget ring.”
You heard the same soft thud as his head came to lay next to yours. “What are you sorry for?”
You rolled your eyes at him. “Hardy-har-har.”
“What? I’m being serious. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
Before you had the chance to respond, you felt the quick brush of his lips over yours. He was gone before you could react.
You quirked an eyebrow at him.
He shot you a grin.
You opened your mouth to speak again and then — another kiss.
“Jason!”
“Yeah?” A peck near the corner of your lips. Your cheek Another one near your jaw. Your eyes fluttered shut as he continued his descent down the column of your throat. There was something you wanted to say to him. What was it? Something about your — oh! You couldn’t help the sigh that escaped when his lips found that specific spot right near your collarbone. You felt the slight flick of his tongue before he pulled away.
Your voice was hazy when you spoke again. “Hey. Why’d you stop?” you grumbled.
“You had to tell me something, remember.” he said amicably, like he wasn’t just nipping at your neck hard enough to leave a mark.
“What.” You stared at him blankly. “Oh. Um. I don’t know. I can’t remember.” And then you grabbed a handful of fabric, bringing him back to your lips.
Ugly. You hated the sight of your hands sometimes. Rough and pulled. You wanted to stop. But it was just so hard to stop sometimes. Goddamn it, where was that fidget ring. You flopped backwards on your bed, arms stretched out.
You heard the patter of footsteps. “Hey.”
“Hi.” you responded, the frustration clear in your tone.
“What’re you doing?”
Still lying down, you turned your head to the side to shoot him a glare. “I’m summoning Errol Flynn from the grave with my mind. What do you think I’m doing?”
He didn’t combat your barb. “I know a guy who could probably do that. Want me to give him a call? Plus, Errol Flynn, really? Have you heard of a man dressed in green hoisting a crossbow over on the West Coast?”
“I just watched Captain Blood, okay.” you huffed. “At least I don’t sit around watching Brady Bunch reruns all day.”
“Hey! I don’t watch Brady Bunch reruns all day!” He gave you a little scoot as he came to lay down next to you. “Low blow. Plus, I have the box set. I don’t need to watch reruns.”
You gave his ribs a little nudge. Not that a big nudge would hurt him. His arms came around your waist, flipping the two of you around so you lay under him.
“My little grumpy baby.” His hands came to squish your cheeks together.
You blew him a raspberry.
He didn’t say anything, instead burying his head in the crook of your neck. You could feel him laughing.
“What’s so funny.” you deadpanned.
He lifted his head to look at you. “Nothing.” He brought your hand to his lips, kissing your palm.
Your breath hitched. “Stop,” you said flatly, turning your head away. You attempted to pull your hand away from him but his grasp remained as firm as ever.
He gave your palm another kiss, this time even softer.
“Jay…” your voice cracked.
“Hmmm?” He threaded your fingers through his.
You could feel the tears welling up. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
He turned your hand away so the back of it faced him. “Beautiful.” he murmured, his lips lingering.
You couldn’t. You just… couldn’t. You pulled your hand away, lips finding his. He kissed you back, his mouth gentle to your aggressive. And still, you couldn’t stop the flow of tears that escaped.
“Oh…” you heard him hush as he discovered the wetness on your cheeks. He slightly pulled back, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.
You shut your eyes in embarrassment, refusing to meet his gaze. You felt his thumb brush over your cheek. He didn’t comment on your reaction. He just wiped away the tears. It was so stupid. He had gone through so much. And here you were crying over your stupid hands.
You felt his hand at your wrist again. You couldn’t help but tense. You half expected him to lace your hands together again or to bring it back to his mouth. Instead, he rested his forehead against yours. His eyelashes fluttered against yours in a butterfly kiss.
“Beautiful,” he whispered again. His mouth found yours once more and this time you responded in like. Gentle to his gentle. And all throughout his delicate ministrations, you didn’t even notice — your hand clasped to his heart.
“I don’t know if I want to go the gala anymore,” you said, adjusting your necklace through the mirror.
You saw Jason come up behind you. “Why not? I mean, I don’t want to either but y’know we kind of have to.”
“I just don’t want to.” You reached behind your neck to fasten the back.
Jason shooed your hand away, fixing the clasp himself. “Is it because of your hands?” he asked casually, making eye contact with you through the mirror.
Your head snapped back to stare at him.
“What?” he repeated just as nonchalantly. “Is it?”
You turned back to face the mirror, shooting him a glare.
The necklace clicked as he got it into place and his hands came to rest on yours shoulders.
You leaned back into him, peeved as you were. You couldn’t help the feelings of agitation that arose when it came to the state of your hands. Sure, they had improved — but the shame was still there.
“Come on.” His voice was low against your neck. “We’ll go for a little bit.”
“I guess,” you sighed. The two of you rocked in place as his arms came to wrap around your waist.
“We’ll congratulate Bruce and Selina. You’ll go have a martini.”
You snorted, letting your head rest on his shoulder.
“Say hi to Dick and Babs,” he continued. “You’ll go have another martini.”
“Hey!” you scoffed teasingly.
“Then we’ll sneak behind a stairwell where I’ll kiss you so good that you beg me to take you home.”
You gave his arm a little smack. “High hopes, huh?” you chortled. “I don’t know about the last thing you said.”
“Yeah?”
You pursed your lips, stifling your laughter. “Yeah. The Magic 8 Ball told me your chances of getting lucky tonight were low.”
“Did it really?” He quirked an eyebrow at you.
You nodded solemnly. “Unfortunately. Unfortunately, it did.”
His lips found the arch between your shoulder and your neck. “That’s too bad.”
“Why?”
He moved up your neck, tiny nibbles followed by flicks of his tongue. Your grasp on his arms tightened. And then he stopped.
“Jay…” you protested as he turned you around to face him.
“Hi.” He shot you a grin.
You squinted your eyes at him. “I’m on to your little tricks, you know.”
“What tricks?” He pulled you flush, mouth finding yours. His kiss was playful, slightly tugging on your lower lip.
You were going to protest. You really were. But when his tongue found its way into your mouth, languidly stroking back and forth, whatever you were going to say seemed far less important.
“This dress looks nice on you,” he breathed, walking you backward. He hoisted you on top of the vanity.
You didn’t respond, your kiss becoming fervent. You tugged him as close as you could. His leg nudged between your thighs.
“Wait—“ Jason pulled back, his breathing heavy. “Wait. Gala. We have to go to the gala.”
You blinked at him. “What.”
He offered you his hand, pulling you back to the floor. “Come on. But you might want to fix your hair before we go.”
You spun back to face the mirror. Your carefully placed coiffure was now a haphazard mess of wayward strands of hair. “Jason!”
“Hey! I wasn’t the only active participant.” he countered, plopping on the edge of the bed.
“Thank you, Mr. Smarty Pants.” you mumbled under your breath.
You heard him chuckle. “And uh — you might want to do something about your neck.”
You leaned forward towards the mirror. And yup, a little mark blooming right near your collarbone. You sighed in defeat. “Really, Jay? Really?”
He laughed behind you. You yanked the nearest throw pillow and flung it behind you.
“Hey!” he exclaimed.
“Oops. Now go fix your hair.”
thank you for this request anon! i did my best making sure this was respectful and accurate but i apologize if there are any triggers — just let me know and i can rework that part. i used my previous information and own personal experiences while writing this so i hope it still fits into the request! also i apologize if the second blurb isn’t as fluffy as the rest! ☹️😭😭☹️
not proofread so if there are any grammatical errors or egregious mistakes let me know and i’ll fix it! also i’m still taking requests so just stop by my ask-box!
okay on to the fun tidbits, i did not make up the whole thing about jason watching the brady bunch! i don’t think they ever outright said the words “jason watches the brady bunch” but considering that he’s canonically the marcia of the family, (no i’m not making this up, there have been multiple references to this 😭😭) i don’t know why they wouldn’t have seen the show. oh and errol flynn famously played robin hood — which is also referenced quite a bit in various green arrow runs! or whenever people make fun of ollie… which is a lot i guess. 😭
engagement and feedback is always encouraged! it motivates me to write more and helps me know what and what not to do when it comes to my writing!
You’re drunk, Jason is concerned, and a lady gets attacked by a pinwheel.
currently taking requests! my ask-box is open!
You never drank. Okay, that was a lie. You sometimes drank; occasionally and only on special occasions.
Why you had decided that the Wayne Enterprises Human Resources Valentine’s Day Party was a special occasion, you didn’t know. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with your recent breakup. Definitely not. But you were at least three champagne flutes in and you were pretty sure you had told your boss that her dress made her butt look great. The HR gods had to be scowling down at you. Or maybe up at you.
You tipped back the current flute in your hand, attempting to catch the last few drops. Sober you was going to regret this so bad. You caught sight of a waiter with a tray of bubbly and downed the rest, all thoughts of your definite killer morning hangover gone. You downed the rest, ready to switch your glass. You picked up your pace, ducking under the new senior manager and his wife, and oh — she smelt really good, like cherries or vanilla or maybe both and for a second you considered abandoning your quest for champagne just to ask what scent she was wearing when an arm pulled you slightly back.
You shrieked, jumping back, earning you more than a few stares. Thank god your flute was empty or else whomever was behind you would have gotten a full face of pear champagne.
“Woah there,” a voice whispered softly in your ear. The presumed strangers hand snaked over yours, grabbing your flute. “Four glasses is enough, don’t you think?”
You spun around so fast — which wasn’t the best idea considering the amount of champagne you had consumed — the stranger had to steady you. Oh my god. That wasn’t a stranger. That was Jason Todd. He certainly wasn't in the friend category but he was definitely a Met Enough Times For It To Be Embarrassing To Be Drunk Around acquaintance. So not a stranger. Also very hot. Very very hot. If Marlon Brando, Tom Selleck, and Pierce Brosnan all had one giant amalgamation baby, it would look like Jason Todd. Oh and a young Gary Cooper. Geez Louise, you really needed to start watching movies made in the 21st century.
An incoherent stream of words fell out of your mouth. You cleared your throat. “Um. Hello.”
Was that your voice? It sounded awfully nasally.
His eyes sparkled with amusement but you didn’t miss the slight crinkle of concern near his eyelids. Wow, drunk you was surprisingly perceptive. Your HR skills were still intact and getting put to use. Maybe all that student debt was worth it.
“Hi,” he parroted back, a gentle smile resting on his lips.
You squeaked. “I’m not drunk.” Okay, maybe it wasn’t worth it. Damn you, First National Bank of Gotham.
Jason let out a low chuckle under his breath. His right eyebrow slightly raised up.
“I’m not!” you repeated, stomping your heel against the floor, resulting in a little clack. Ow! Why in the world were you wearing heels? The soles of your feet were practically crying out in pain. Would it be weird if you took them off? In reference to your heels, not the soles of your feet. Taking off the soles of your feet? Hah! With Jason holding your flute, both of your hands were free. You slightly leaned forward, resting your right arm on his left shoulder, your left hand reaching behind you to yank off your heel.
His eyebrows furrowed together. “What’re you doing?” His free arm came to rest on your hip. Consciously or subconsciously, you didn’t know but it made for great support.
“Can’t you see.” you grunted out. “My feet hurt. So I’m-” you paused to undo the strap, which doing backwards was more difficult than you had expected. “Taking,” another pause. “Off.” you loosened the strap through the buckle. “My heel!” you exclaimed triumphantly, raising your shoe occupied arm in the air.
As soon as your heel whipped back, it collided directly into the tray of a cater-waiter. A metallic clang! rang out and the tray flipped forwards while the waiter stumbled backwards. A flock of pinwheels came hurtling towards you, narrowly missed by Jason yanking you out of the way. But your success was futile — a lone pinwheel landed into the bodice of an older woman, producing a shriek that one could only describe as bloodcurdling. The woman leaped back and then, before you could blink, a domino of people tumbled and fell, and then you tumbled and fell, and now there was a very warm, very heavy man sprawled across you. And then the flute shattered.
“Okay, maybe a little drunk.” you quietly mumbled.
“I’m going to get fired!” you wailed.
Jason came over to wrap a blanket around you. “You’re not going to get fired.” he said matter-of-fact, tucking in the folds of the blanket. Maybe if he swaddled you tight enough, his apartment wouldn’t face the same wrath as the 14th floor of the Wayne Enterprises building.
You continued to babble, “I am! I totally am! I’m going to get fired and I’m going to have a gazillion student loans and I’m going to have to move in with my cousin who lives in Star City!”
He made his way over to his kitchen to grab a mug from the cabinet. Your tirade still continued,“I mean who even likes Star City!”
“Hot Chocolate?” he asked.
You paused to look over at him, wide-eyed, as if only now realizing where you were. “Okay.”
It was silent as he poured the hot chocolate into the mugs. One for you and one for him (he figured whisky wasn’t appropriate for the moment at hand). He made sure yours had extra marshmallows.
Your voice was small when you finally spoke up again. Thank god, because he had found the silence unnerving. He liked your chatter, regardless of the fact that most of it had been panicking and complaining so far. “Is this where you live?” It was one of the places he lived, yeah. But Jason wasn’t in the habit of explaining the safe houses he required as a vigilante to pretty human resources employees who worked for his kind-of-fathers company.
“Mhm,” he nodded. Mugs in hand, he kicked the cabinet door shut, making his way over to the couch.
“Thank you,” you beamed up at him, extending out your hand. His heart gave a little thud at the way you were looking at him. Like he had just gone to the ends of the Earth and back for you, instead of simply offering hot chocolate.
“Be careful,” he said. “It’s hot.”
You wrapped your hands around the mug for warmth as Jason scooted next to you.
“I know.” you giggled.
He turned to look at you, an expression of bemusement settling on his face.
You wiggled your eyebrows at him. “I can handle hot.”
He let out a soft chuckle under his breath. “Okay.” He gave you a light barely-there pat on your back.
You gave him a fixed look. “What, you don’t think I can?”
“I didn’t say anything.” Jason propped his sock clad feet on the coffee table. “Drink your hot chocolate.”
“I am!” you exasperated. He could hear the contents of your mug slosh around.
He reached over to gently extract the mug from your overly animated hands, setting it on the corner of the coffee table farthest away from you.
“Hey!” you protested. “I was drinking that!”
He glanced over to see the marshmallows piled high as ever.
This was not how he was planning on spending his one free night.
“It’ll be really quick, you can just drop off the paperwork before you go out. Promise.” Tim had said.
And now here he was. Not Noonan’s Bar in all of its dingy glory but his decoy apartment. With a drunk Wayne Enterprises employee who he had met a total of four times before this incident. He wasn’t exceedingly upset about the derailment of his plans. Just slightly disgruntled.
On his way back from Tim’s office, the elevator had stopped at the 14th floor and the woman who was getting off asked for his assistance in carrying the table that she was balancing. What was he supposed to do, say no? Then he proceeded to see you flitting around, looking more inebriated than one should be at an office party. And what was he supposed to do about that, not be concerned?
Your voice piped up, snapping him out of his self-deprecating train of thought. “Can you take off my bra?” Now he was the one who almost splashed hot chocolate on himself.
“What?” Was that his voice? Good lord, it sounded like he had just swallowed razor blades.
You flopped onto his shoulder. “My bra.” you repeated, your voice slightly muffled. “My boobs hurt.” And then you paused to snicker over the word boobs.
Jason blinked. And then he blinked again. “Oh. I don’t know,” He trailed off. He hadn’t taken off a sober woman’s bra in a while. Let alone a drunk woman.
“Please.” you whined. “I can’t reach over and do it myself. I don’t even know where my back is.” You waved your arm behind you.
His gaze softened. “Can I give you a ride home? And if you don’t have anyone there then I can help you.”
“Oh. I- um. I don’t really live in my apartment right now.” you squeaked into the side of his arm.
Jason’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Why not?”
You let out a long sigh, pushing away from him and flopping onto the pillows at the corner of the couch. Was it weird that he missed you leaning on the side of him?
“Well,” you began, remedying the lack of you near him by propping your legs over his and onto his lap.
“I had a boyfriend. We were pre-engaged. Like engaged to be engaged, y’know.” you said, as if that made all the sense in the world. He nodded along. “Do you know I used to work at SunDollar?” you continued.
“What? Is that part of the story?” he asked.
“No. I just remembered.” you grinned at him. “But back to my story. So one day I came home and —” You paused.
“And what?”
“I don’t feel like telling the long version anymore.”
Without even noticing, his hand had come over to slightly massage the soles of your feet. “Then why don’t you tell me the short one?” he suggested.
You stared at him like he had just given you the greatest idea in the world. “Okay,” you nodded solemnly as if you were amazed at his genius. “I’m staying with a friend right now because my boyfriend was sleeping with somebody else who wasn’t me so I broke off the pre-engagement and the possible future engagement and the whole relationship and now I’m trying to move all my stuff out because we used to live in the same apartment. Together.”
He took a moment to process the plethora of words that had just fallen out of your mouth.
“Oh and I can’t go back to my friend's place because she and her girlfriend are going to have sex.” you concluded.
“That bastard.” he swore, his anger thinly veiled.
“Um no. He’s not a bastard. His parents are married. He wasn’t born out of wedlock.” And Jason had no idea on how to respond to that.
“But his dad is cheating on his mom. I found out by accident and he told me not to tell even though I just told you. So maybe it’s genetic? The cheating, not the telling.”
Jason could only stare. And then he guffawed. And guffawed loudly.
“Hey! Don’t laugh!”
He threaded his hand through yours to lift you up from your previous position, bringing you close, his arm draping around your shoulder.
“No, no, I’m not laughing at you babe.” The endearment slipped out without notice as his laughter slowly faded out. He turned to look at you, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry.” His voice was gentle.
“For what?” you asked openly.
“For everything you just told me.”
“Oh. That’s okay, you didn’t do anything.” you said matter-of-fact.
“I know. But I can still be sorry.” And when he had the time he’d like to put that guy's balls in a blender.
“Hmmm.” you pondered over that. “That’s very wise. Has anybody ever told you that you’re very wise?” Not particularly, no, he thought to himself.
“Thank you,” Jason’s voice was soft. “Do I have your permission to be wise again?”
You rapidly nodded.
“I think,” he began to pull himself along with you — your hands were still laced together— up from the couch. “That maybe you should stay here tonight. Since you have no place to go. But mostly because you’re very drunk.”
“Really?” you gasped. “Because that was kind of maybe what I was thinking.”
His eyes crinkled with laughter. “What would you have done if I hadn’t asked you?”
The both of you were standing now, your connected hands gently swinging back and forth.
“I don’t know.” you said honestly. “Back to my actual apartment I think.”
Though his posture remained relaxed, Jason’s expression quickly sobered. “No. With your douchebag of an ex hanging around? I don’t think so.”
You didn’t seem to be too bothered by his blunt statement. “Can I have water please?” you asked.
“Yeah, sure.” He stepped away from you, grabbing the mugs before he made his way into the kitchen. “Do you want to finish your hot chocolate?” Or technically start.
You didn’t respond, grabbing the mug to gulp back the now cooled beverage. You handed it back to him, only having drunk a quarter of it. “I wanted the marshmallows.” you said bashfully.
He grinned at you. “My room’s on the left. I’ll bring you your water.” He turned towards the kitchen.
“Are we going to have sex?”
Jason spun back so fast, he was shocked the mugs didn’t collide together.
“What? No! No. No. No.” he uttered rapidly. “That’s not what I meant.”
Did he seem like a creep by offering you his bed? Because he meant it in a polite way. Not in a pervy way.
“I was trying to say that you could sleep in my bed. Instead of the couch.” Jason cleared his throat.
“Okay. Maybe another time.” you remarked breezily before turning away.
Jason blinked. A what? Another what! And fuck, you were already gone before he could tell you where his sleep shirts were.
There was a gentle knock on the door.
“You may enter!” you announced in the who-knows-from-where accent you were attempting.
“Hi.” Jason approached the bed, handing you the glass of water.
You leaned against the headboard, already under the sheets. Jason’s bed was really comfortable. And soft. And it smelled really nice.
“Thank you.” You raised the glass to your lips and — ahhhh — it was nice and cold but not too cold, just the right amount of cold.
You could see him perched on the corner of the bed through the corner of your eyes.
“Woah, woah.” you heard Jason say, harkening back to earlier. “Not too fast.” His hand flittered at the bottom of the glass, slightly pulling it away from you.
“Sorry,” you gulped. “It was really good water.”
He set the glass down on the side table, resulting in a little clink!
He slightly cocked his head toward you. “Sorry to ask but — what are you wearing under there?”
“Ah-ha!” you exclaimed, poking at his chest with your finger. Woah mama, that was solid.
“Didn’t you say no sex? No take-backsies!”
He looked startled again. He was kind of like a lost grizzly bear. Awww.
“Because I didn’t get the chance to tell you where my sleep clothes were.”
You gave him a squint, poking his chest again. “Heh. Whatever you say Mister.”
His hand came to grab your roaming finger.
“If you must know,” you flopped back against the pillows. “My dress.”
“I have a pair of sweatpants and a shirt you can wear.” he answered, getting off the bed. He opened the dresser against his wall, coming back to place the clothes on the bed. At least he didn’t throw them at you.
Your hand enclosed around his wrist. “Where do you think you’re going? You can’t just throw your clothes at a girl and leave y’know.” You shook your head in faux disappointment.
He gave you a puzzling smile. “I’m going to let you change.”
With a grunt, you managed to push the heavy blanket off of yourself. You shifted so your back faced him. “Hello! My dress.” You turned your head towards him. “I can’t take it off myself.”
You heard him mumble something under his breath. You pushed your hair to the side of your neck, slightly wiggling your back. His hands slightly brushed the nape of your neck.
“Why do you have a zipper and buttons?” He sounded perplexed.
“It’s big button.” You shook your head. “A truly corrupt industry they are.”
You could hear him softly chuckle. His hands were gentle, almost as if he were handling something delicate; precious cargo.
Mmmmm. His hands were warm. Calloused and rough — but still impossibly tender. Your eyes fluttered at the light sensation of his hands carefully moving down your back. Each time a button popped free you could feel the slight press of his fingers against your bare skin — right before he moved onto the next button. You couldn’t help but slightly lean into him.
“Hope you’re still awake.” He said. “I still have to tackle the zipper.”
“Sorry.” Your voice was groggy.
“It’s alright. Move back a bit, okay?”
“Okay.” Instead of scooting yourself away from, you simply angled your back forward.
He let out a soft laugh.
You could feel cool air welcoming your back as he began to unzip.
“All done.” He gave your shoulder a quick pat.
Your voice was muffled in the sheets. “Bra?”
He let out a deep exhale. “Okay. But just know I don’t have any intentions of being untoward.”
“Can you untoward my bra strap?”
He chuckled. “Yeah. Yeah, I can.”
You heard the three snaps and the constriction of your bra loosened. You couldn’t help but groan into the sheets. His hand on your back tensed.
“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” you praised, sighing in relief.
His hand loosened. “Better?”
“So much better.” you sighed. “Thank you. Again.”
The bed gave a groan as he turned to stand up. “Do you want more water?”
“Yes, please.” you answered gratefully.
“Okay. I’ll let you change and come back with some more water.”
“Okay.” you repeated. You pulled yourself up as you heard him leave the room, the door closing with a soft thud. You grabbed the shirt he had left on the corner of the bed.
It would probably be smart to get up and change. You didn’t feel very smart right now.
You wiggled the dress towards your legs and yanked off your bra, dropping them both on the floor in a pile. The shirt was excessively large with the words Rosen Brother’s Deli sprawled across it. Was that the place in Down River? Eh. You’d look it up later. If you managed to remember. You pulled the shirt over your head, letting it fall over you. Hmm. It didn’t smell like rye bread or pastrami. A good sign. You reached for the sweatpants. Black and nondescript, no deli logo to be found.
“All good?” Jason asked through the door.
“Yes!” you answered.
He cursed. “Why did you say you were all good?” He gestured his head towards your half clothed leg sticking out of the sheet.
“I’m pulling them on.” you exasperated. “It’s very hard to do lying under the blankets.”
“Why didn’t you just get up?” He set the glass of water on the side table.
“Because I didn’t want to.” you responded, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
His eyes crinkled in mirth. “I’m going to bed. Anything you need before I go?”
“Yeah. Where are you going?”
He looked at you in confusion. “To the couch?”
“Why?”
“What do you mean why?” He looked as lost as ever.
“Why aren’t you sleeping here?” you patted the bed.
He pursed his lips. “Because I’m sleeping on the couch.”
“You already said that. Just sleep here. I want you here. You’re nice. So you should stay.”
Jason let out a chuckle of disbelief.
“Plus, I just got my pants on. Or your pants on. Which are on my legs now. So our pants. Heh. We’re pant parents.”
He came to sit on the edge of the bed again, his hand coming to rest over yours. “You’re sweet. But you don’t make a very good argument.”
“I work in HR. We fix arguments. Or at least we try to.”
He moved past your statement. “You should sleep.” His thumb was now rubbing back and forth over your hand. “You’re going to have a killer headache tomorrow.”
You let out a wobbly exhale. “I know. I don’t want to think about it right now.”
“Sleep tight.” he patted your hand, rising once again.
“Please.” Your voice was small. He looked over at you, practically swallowed by the blankets. “Can you stay? Just for a minute. Or maybe two. Or three or four. Even five if you’d like. I know I’d like.”
He worried at his lip, before turning his head away. “Fine Dr. Seuss. I’ll stay. But only for five minutes. Got it?”
“Sir, yes sir.” you gave the spot next to you a heavy smack. “When did you change? And why did you call me Dr. Suess?”
He didn’t respond to your line of questioning as he settled over — rather than under — the sheets, crossing his arms across his chest. He flicked the night lamp off. “Five minutes,” he repeated. “That’s it.”
“I told you. I got it.” Your voice was muffled as you buried yourself deeper into the sheets.
It was quiet for about thirty seconds. “Jason?”
“Yeah?” He sounded tired.
“Thank you. You’re very kind.”
You heard his breath hitch. But he didn’t respond.
You repeated yourself. “Jason?”
He hummed in acknowledgment.
“Did you hear me?”
The mattress shifted as he rolled on his side to face you.
“Thank you.” His voice was soft again.
“For what? I didn’t do anything.”
He left your question unanswered again but this time you didn’t follow up, accepting his silence.
You stared up at the ceiling, feeling your eyelids get heavy. You didn’t know how much time had passed before you spoke again. “Goodnight Jason. I’ll see you in the morning.” Your voice was sleepy.
“Goodnight. See you in the morning.” he said, his words matching yours.
And when you woke up — with a killer headache, just like Jason had said — a pair of arms were wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you close. Hah! Five minutes your ass.
yay, she’s all done! i had written like two paragraphs of this back in december originally wanting it to be a holiday story but then i got distracted by something or the other and this fic fell on the back burner. i haven’t properly proof read this yet so watch out for the plethora of grammatical errors littered around — and if something is really egregious, let me know and i’ll fix it! and thank you @hellblazerglazr for helping me out! 🙂↕️
bonus! every location mentioned in this fic — Noonan’s Bar, Sundollar Coffee, and Rosen’s Brother Deli in Down River — all canonically exist within comic continuity!
engagement and feedback is always encouraged! it motivates me to write more and helps me know what and what not to do when it comes to my writing! alsooooo… do we want a part two? 🤷♀️
hi i hope ur doing well!! i have a pretty big problem w/ skin picking,, so I was wondering if you could write something where jason is aware of [reader]'s unhealthy habit and just kisses them every time he catches them doing it!!! it don't have to be kissing just something fluffy 🤗🤗
(COMPLETED 02/23)
thank you for the request anon!!
i’m not super knowledgeable about skin picking and how it personally affects people but i have ocd so i totally understand compulsions! i’ll try my best!!
